Just somebody please shut me up. Because I can't take it anymore. I can't take the look on her face. And the sound of her voice. And the roll of her eyes. I can't continue to chip, chip, chip away at any tiny shred of friendship we might have left.
'Cause the answers don't really matter at this point anyway. Not even to me.
I mean, they feel like they do. They sure as hell feel like they're ALL that matters. It feels like knowing the answers to those exact questions RIGHT NOW IN THIS VERY SECOND while she's craiglisting for a place of her own, and the kids are upstairs watching Phinneas & Ferb, and the dogs are terrorizing the gardeners, and I'm standing here with mascara running down my cheeks again (yes, really, you'd think I'd clue in to the waterproof at this point) is the one and only thing that might make the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach stop.
That knowing that you have a rare genetic brain disorder that simultaneously sucks you dry of sane, rational, intelligent decisions, while making you an emotional zombie who shuts down the very moment I reach for a salvavida (I've just always seen that word on the backs of airplane seats and wanted to use it in a sentence; it IS a lifejacket, so it's not like it doesn't fit or anything), and that you've been suffering in stoic silence to protect me from the burden for these past 4 years is really the only thing I want to hear.
Because I'm not understanding and I'm not hearing anything else that I can actually digest.
That you're addicted to heroine and oxycontin and Flinstone vitamins all at once and preferably through a feeder tube would make more sense. That you had your heart surgically removed years ago and donated to a dying quadriplegic child in Africa would be completely reasonable. That you're not really the Amy that I fell in love with, but that she's currently away from her desk right now and will be back shortly. Please leave a short message after the beep. That...that I could take.
Other than that, there's not really anything else that I want to hear.
And if I can just find a way to magically wire my mouth shut for the next few weeks, maybe, just maybe I can somehow manage to stop spewing this filth at you, too.